Chapter Eight Cycle of History

Chapter Eight Cycle of History

Elloren Guryev

Noilaan

“We seek to align with you to save Erthia,” Vang Troi declares as she finishes her petition to Noilaan’s Vo Conclave.

Niko Luun, the golden-eyed Vo Conclave leader, stands on the riverbank before us just past the Eastern-facing wall of Noilaan’s

runic border, the white-capped Vo River spread out before us, Yvan and Soleiya flanking me. Several members of the Conclave

bracket Niko, including a heavy Vu Trin military presence. They’ve let only a small number of us through, including Aislinn’s

sick relatives and Priest Wyn Juun and the ill baby.

Studying the corrupted skies, Bleddyn bites out an epithet under her breath from beside me. The Shadow storm has grown more

violent, crashing against Tierney’s and her allies’ shielding.

Vang Troi holds up her III-marked palm and glances pointedly up at the battering storms. “We will ask, once more” she says,

“for you to simply hear our Forest out . Before enough Shadow streams in from the West to break through the shielding above, and Nature’s Reckoning descends .”

“Heralding the destruction of every last surviving shred of the Natural World,” Sylvan passionately adds.

Niko Luun gives Vang Troi a blisteringly hard look. “Oh, we listened to ‘your Forest,’ ? ” he sneers. His scornful gaze flicks toward me before he levels it back at Vang Troi with enough venom to burn a hole straight

through her. “We listened to the lies ensorcelled into your trees. Lies that put Vogel’s Shadow tool in your hands. And lies that would enable you to infiltrate our country once more and destroy what remains of it .”

“This land is already being destroyed!” Oaklyyn cries, Raz’zor’s vermillion-coal eyes fixed murderously on Niko Luun as Raz’zor

blazes an image through our hordefire of the Conclave leader bursting into an explosion of flame.

Yvan stiffens, hissing, Steady, Wyvern , through our horde bond.

Sylvan points a deep-green finger up at the storms. “Do you not have eyes to see? The Shadow is about to come crashing through!”

“Silence, Fae!” Niko Luun hurls back. “Noilaan is for the Vo-worshipping Noi . And none of this would have happened if it had stayed that way !”

Now it’s Yvan’s turn to blaze combative fire through our horde bond, a low hiss rising in his throat as Naga urges us all,

Hold your fire!

Distress strikes through me as I take in the sapphire armbands around every Conclave member’s arm, Vo’s white dragon manifestation

imprinted on them. So much like the white Gardnerian armbands.

“There are many types of Noi’khin, Nikovir,” Vang Troi says with forced calm as an earsplitting explosion of Shadow thunder

breaks, strands of Shadow pulsing into the Vo’s shielding.

“No, Vanglira ,” Niko Luun knifes back, “there is but one type of Noi’khin. And you are no longer one of them.” He swipes a hand toward me. “The Crow Witch dares to bring an army

of Mages and Alfsigr not once but twice into the Realm.” He levels a finger toward Wynter’s pocket. “Along with Vogel’s Shadow tool. Yet you stand with the Black

Witch still!”

Vang Troi’s aura flares brighter. “It is as we have told you—Elloren Guryev has slain Marcus Vogel. And those Mages and Alfsigr who portaled here with us are Vogel’s army no longer . They have become our Dryad’khin allies.” Vang Troi looks pointedly toward Mavrik and Gwynn beside her. “They have been freed

of their Shadow tether by light spells sent through the Verdyllion, the Zhilin Stylus of our religious lore. Nikovir, the

war is over .”

Niko Luun gapes at her. “This war will never be over.” He turns to his military’s new high commander, Quoi Zhon, as more of Noilaan’s Vu Trin forces stream in on runic

vessels, by land and by air.

But there are other forces closing in, I note with mounting dread. Hundreds of civilian rune ships streaming in on the Vo River or soaring through the air toward us. Along with a multitude of Vu Trin Wyverns, who morph into human form as soon as they touch down on the riverbank’s soil.

And a fleet of Vu Trin naval vessels, speeding in from the South.

Closing in to take me and my loved ones down.

My baby’s dark wings flutter against my mind, and I place a hand defensively over my abdomen and take hold of the Verdyllion,

a feral urge to fight rising as I draw Zhilaan- and foliage-fueled power into my lines—enough power to usher in a new war.

Yvan places a cautioning hand on my arm, and my gaze snaps to him to find his eyes fixed on the sea of Vu Trin forces and

Noi civilians closing in around us. My confusion burgeons as our entire horde, save Raz’zor, floods my lines with a cautioning

line of fire, the flow of its energy urging calm, Raz’zor’s power cast into as much churning confusion as mine as he combatively

eyes the incoming forces.

Heart hammering, I shoot Yvan a demanding look, which he fervidly meets, sending out a more intense blaze of his cautioning

fire. “Wait,” he urges, nostrils flaring.

Protest rises in my throat as Nike Luun bellows, “Vu Trin! I command you to strike down these enemies of Noilaan !”

Throwing caution to the wind, I grit my teeth and draw a huge volume of power into the Verdyllion. The Vu Trin surrounding

Niko Luun draw swords, metallic screeches knifing through the air, their sapphire power rising.

Dryad Witch, hold your fire! Raz’zor hisses through our bond, his vermillion flame outrageously taking on Yvan’s, Naga’s, and my entire horde’s cautioning

motion.

“No!” I hiss at Yvan and my horde in Wyvern. “I won’t let them—”

“Elloren,” Yvan cuts in, his fire blazing around mine with impassioned heat. “Look.”

Thrown, I scan the Vu Trin... and that’s when I notice it, a dart of shock spiking through me. The large mass of Vu Trin

soldiers closing in around us have made no move to draw their weapons or even pull on their power, High Commander Ung Li and

the small force surrounding Niko Luun eyeing them with open confusion.

“I ordered you to attack!” Niko Luun bellows again, his face reddening with fury.

My pulse spikes as the surrounding mass of soldiers and civilians streaming in behind them all raise their palms to us in unison.

III’s mark on all of them.

“Holy Ancient One,” I gasp, my shock blasted into renewed confusion as I’m hit by an incoming wave of purple geo-aura, pulsing

up through the ground.

“What are you sensing?” Yvan hisses.

“Geopower...” I barely manage to answer before purple lines blink into being all over the riverbank. The net extends in

every direction, including down over the Vo River’s entire bed, the Waters lighting up a more vivid, ripping purple. Large

violet geo-runes explode into existence across the geo-net’s land-based expanse, openings appearing in their centers.

My eyes widen.

These are passages leading out of the Sublands.

Varg-shielded Subland Elves are suddenly streaming out of the passages. I spot Fyon Hawkkyn, Clive Soren, and Andras’s former

love, Sorcha Xanthippe, in the lead. An army of Smaragdalfar, then Rafe and Diana’s Lupine pack, and Amaz and Keltish soldiers

stream in behind them, including Andras’s heavily tattooed mother, Astrid Volya, with Andras’s son in her arms.

“Konnor!” Andras calls out to the child at the same time that Freyja roughly cries out “Clive!”

My heart leaps as Freyja strides out to meet Clive, and Andras sets off at a sprint toward his son. Effrey and Olilly run

in behind Fyon, and an emotional sound bursts from Sparrow’s throat as she and Thierren set out toward them.

Both Effrey and Olilly are gripping glowing violet geo-styluses, Effrey’s purple Strafeling aura burning visibly bright. And

Olilly... her aura might not be strong enough to be visible, but it still holds a formidable level of might, both youths’

power connected to the purple geo-magic that blasted through Noilaan’s imprisoning Subland barrier.

“Holy hells,” Bleddyn exclaims. “Did Effrey and Olilly just free the Sublands?”

Gareth surges forward, a euphoric smile on his face as he passes us and raises his hand to the Vo River, lightning coursing

over his skin.

Renewed shock blasts through everyone’s power as whales breach the surface of the Vo in explosive sprays of water. Their seismic current of storm energy hits me, and frissons of lightning crackle around my lines. Deep-blue Selkie soldiers and other Oceanic peoples sit astride them, more Ocean-shifter soldiers streaming off the Vu Trin naval ships, along with Vu Trin soldiers, and swiftly carried to shore by small skiffs and more ocean creatures.

All of the incoming forces raise III-marked palms as a host of kindred animals close in alongside them, a large purple grizzly

bear kindred lumbering behind Clive as he and Freyja sweep each other into a passionate embrace and Andras gathers his son

into his muscular arms.

“They’re all allied with us,” Yvan marvels in Wyvern as we grip each other’s hands, a powerful bolt of emotion blazing through our bond.

“My brother!” Marina cries and signs out to the Selkie male in the lead at the same moment that Fain and Lucretia call out

“Zephyr!”

I realize Zephyr must be the steel-hued Sylphan Vu Trin soldier running in beside Marina’s tall, formidable-looking brother.

The unlikely couple’s intermingled water-and-air magic flows around each other in an ardent caress as my Dryad’khin call out

to incoming friends and loved ones.

“Stand down!” High Commander Quoi Zhon calls out to her knot of non-Dryad’khin soldiers, clearly realizing they’re grievously

outnumbered, all of them pointedly resheathing their swords.

Tears sting my eyes as Niko Luun shoots Quoi Zhon a look of pure fury, his hate no longer holding any bite. Because I know,

deep in my heart, as Sage and Ra’Ven reach Mora’lee and take their baby Fyn’ir and young Fern into their loving arms while

Dryad’khin embrace and press their III-marked palms together, their fingers twining tight, that right now, in this moment,

the war is truly over.

“You are no longer the majority leader, Niko Luun,” Vang Troi calls out, glancing up at the monstrous storms gaining ground

above. “Which is a good thing. Erthia can’t withstand this type of division any longer.”

Vang Troi’s words strike deep, as Shadow flashes through the Vo’s shielding with intensifying force—a Death Reckoning ready

to snap its leash. Hazel, Viger, my ravens, and all the other Deathkin have bought us time... but will it prove to be enough?

Can we swiftly use that time to repair enough of the damage we’ve wrought to have any future at all?

A tingle races across my palm, and my eyes widen as the Verdyllion pulses a revolutionary directive through the Forest link I share with all my Dryad’khin. The Wand erupts into a prism-edged glow that’s brighter than anything I’ve ever seen emanating from it, as it pulses out a subversive image to us all, our next, world-changing step crystal clear. My gaze pivots to Yvan’s then toward my fellow Tree’khin, the same stunned look on everyone’s face quickly morphing into expressions of fierce, collective resolve.

Pulse quickening, I turn to Bleddyn as the momentous crossroads bears down. “You once told me,” I say to her, “that your religion

was no children dying of curable things on the other side of a wall .”

Bleddyn’s lip tics up even as a look of dead-serious awe overtakes her gem-green eyes. “I did, in fact, say that.”

“Is that still your religion,” I press, “even if a good number of those children are Mages and Alfsigr Elves?”

Bleddyn glances toward Aislinn’s sick niece, Erin, and the baby cradled in Wyn Juun’s arms, clearly remembering, as I am,

all the desperate people trapped on the other side of the runic border beside us.

Bleddyn nods, a fierce light shining in her emerald eyes. “Yeah,” she says with a broad grin. “It’s still my religion.”

And I can see in her gaze that she senses the potential ramifications of this moment as potently as me. Here. Right here .

This is how the cycle of history ends.

And how hope begins.

Vang Troi climbs onto a large, flat boulder along with Sylvan and Yulan. “Dryad’khin!” she calls out to everyone assembled,

her voice amplified by the rune she’s swept into existence before herself and the two Dryad Fae, the word holding its own

against the mounting Shadow storms. Vang Troi quiets as if searching for her next words in the vision the surviving Forest

is streaming out to every Tree’khin.

“For too long,” she finally says, “we have let ourselves be divided, forgetting the source of all our magic and forgetting

our connections to each other.”

Yulan, Vang Troi, and Sylvan exchange looks of staunch alliance.

“We stand on a threshold,” Yulan calls out in her melodic voice, her Ironflower tresses glowing bright, the three grayed herons

flying in and alighting on the stone beside her and her healed heron kindred. She casts a worried look toward the skies as

Shadow lightning cracks against the graying shield. “The old ways of division and fracture are about to bring the destruction

of the entire Natural World.”

“Our only hope,” Sylvan booms, “is to forge a new path, and come together as Dryad’khin to fight for each other. And to fight

for the trees.”

Sylvan raises his III-marked palm and looks at me as a flood of magic breaks loose and streams toward the Verdyllion from all sides.

I draw in a hard breath and stiffen, the entire surviving Forest and every Dryad’khin suddenly pouring their power into my

rootlines via our Dryad’khin linkage to the Forest in a potent, gathering tide, and I join my own power to it all, like rapids

converging.

The Verdyllion warms in my hand, its spiral green form flashing prismatic light before settling into a luminous green burn,

as bright as a verdant star. As if it was meant for this moment. As if I’m coming into the best use of my Black Witch power at this moment.

Heart expanding with so much communal love it aches, I stride toward the runic wall.

Silence descends, save for the strengthening storms above us as Dryad’khin part to allow me passage to the wall’s interlocking

sapphire runes. And then I raise the Verdyllion, murmur the spell the Forest is whispering through us all, and press the tip

of the Verdyllion to the border wall’s surface.

Our collective power shocks through me, and my pulse leaps as the border wall’s sapphire runes blast into every prismatic

color on Erthia, bright as a million stars, and we watch, together, as the runic wall harmlessly explodes in a flash of shimmering

multicolored light.

And falls.